Look at you now, trying your hardest to come back in, not going to happen, you are the scum of the earth. I used to feel sorry for you, now you just disgust me, the only thing that I can know for sure is that I am going to bash your fucking head in with a bat. All you ever do is walk around, fucking moaning all the time and trying to get back in, clawing at my door. Bitch, get it through your fucking head, you are dead to me and next time I see you, you are going to get a bullet straight in the your shitty eye. At first I thought that I could help you and give you the benefit of the doubt and that this wasn’t your fault. But now, all you are to me is just fucking ugly and a waste of space, your heart is cold, and I am going to kill you before you can start trying to wreck someone else’s life. I watch you through my window everyday, planning on how I am going to end you. I left this note on the door for you so that, if you can read, you will get the hint and know that there is no peace here, this is going to end in blood. I knew right when you turned up on my doorstep that it was going to take a major act of violence to get rid of you. Fuck, as I am righting this I can smell your stink all around my house. FUCK I HATE YOU. By the way if any of your friends are out there roaming the streets, tell them I am coming for them next. Jesus I hate fucking Zombies. Assholes stay dead.

Yes, the Lebanese…This group of men ran an illegal LEVIS cartel. What? Yes, Levi Cartel. We had three apartments, each one having a couple of older Lebanese gentlemen (“chaperones”). All which by the way were either named Sam or Al. Along with the chaperones was anywhere from three to six young teenagers living in each apartment also. It was a sort of interracial halfway Brady bunch house. All the kids were around my age, fourteen, fifteen drop outs, junkies although there were a couple of normal ones (well who seemed to be normal compared to the lot of them).

In exchange for the roof over our heads we would all pile up into three or four, filthy, minivans and travel from state to state, store to store and buy as many pairs of Levi 501 jeans on sale as possible. This was so that by the end of the month after we had filled up an entire bedroom to the ceiling wall to wall, we would shove them all into as many U haul trucks as needed, drive it down to San Diego, throw it on a ship so that they could send them to Lebanon to get a disgusting return on their money.

The retail stores and the Feds started getting savvy to our little operation. So most stores in the greater north-west, because of yours truly, implemented a maximum amount of jeans that could be sold to one person and that number was three. Before this we were getting paid one dollar per pair of jeans we bought (with their money) and each of us was pulling in hundreds of pairs per day, so this new rule tossed a monkey wrench in our income. Now we had to change our tactics drastically. Now instead of six people in each van we had to fit suitcases of clothes, hats and even fake mustaches in with us. We would all run into a store get our three pair maximum, run outside change clothes and do this as many times as we could before the store was either out or security escorted us off their premises.

Now these stores being as smart as they are changed their policy again and added not only a cap on the amount but now anyone that wanted to buy a pair of jeans needed to have a I.D.. This did not have the effect they were expecting, because after we all got our plethora of fake I.D’s we pretty much drained the Levi 501 market…Washington, Idaho and Montana were the next in line for our 501 supremacy, but you get the picture.

I don’t really remember how long I was with them, but it was a while. Enough time to learn enough Arabic to get me by. I also learned that if you are in the back of a mini van going 80 mph and the driver wont stop to let people use the bathroom, you get pretty good at going out the window. Always felt bad for the people driving behind us.

Eventually the IRS was able to catch up to us and deported our chaperones back to their own soil, forcefully I might add.

So on a different note from my small town visit I had to talk about this end of the world prophecy for tomorrow May 21, 2011. As much end of the world crap as we have heard in all of our life times it has been more of an amusement than a warning. Just ten minutes ago I was watching the news and heard, “Breaking News, church leaders say second coming of Christ tomorrow” than in the same breath, that there will be a concert in town square next week. There will never, in the future, be a legitimate end of the world scare because of all the times that we have cried wolf. We will only know when the end of the world is upon us when comets are actually coming through the front door. Although there is some humor and hope in this for those of us that put no stock in prophecy. There is a man (an atheist) who has actually had 200+ clients to watch their pets when they got beamed to heaven.

No offense but this is more Christian fundamentalist trying to put fear in the thoughts of their followers, and that’s just the republicans…hee hee. BURN

Stop the freaking madness. And finally, who the hell is screening the news now a days. Get that crap off the air, or all you will have are idiots like this pitching their garbage. Its bad enough that we have Christian, Mormon and so forth channels. Now we have the retards of the religious sect becoming their own personal super hero because they see themselves on the motion picture box.

A slower way of living out here in Small Town North Carolina. Nothing fast about it. No need to get things done fast, no coffee shop on every corner and no dry cleaners, heck, I can’t even find a place to get an alcoholic refresher at any point of the day or night. The churches out here, one to every household it seems, must have the lock and key to the liquor cache. The fast food out here is even slow. I definitely sound like an outsider here going through the drive through at the local hang out (Arby’s). “Hello, can you hear me…Hello” not knowing that the politeness out here does not allow them to interrupt someone from whom is talking. Even the elevators are slow here, in our hotel to get to the third story you might as well scale the side of the building.

Life in a small town is definitely an acquired taste. You have to go into it knowing that everyone around is going to know your business, that most people know each other. I was walking around “town” taking pictures of some of the older buildings and run down old shacks when I was stopped by an older fella that went on to talking to me about the IRS tax code for roughly an eternity. Also some FYI for you, it is not a stereotype about the southern men all having chew in their mouth and camouflage hats and clothing. Id say 4 out of 5 men out here fit that profile. If they are not hunting they are directly apart of a conversation about it. I have seen more dead deer pictures and poor deer heads on the wall than I have ever seen in my life. I am sure that this little town has taken out at least 35% of the deer population. And the vehicles have taken out 90% of the possum’s.

I had to title this day 1 1/2 because I don’t remember much, only working on about 45 min of sleep. After all the madness with the car rental company it was time to drive from the dirty-dirty (Atlanta) to small town North Carolina. I wish that I could have given you a run down of the drive but it would all be made up as I was counting sheep the entire time.

I always heard that people were a lot nicer and friendlier out in small towns, but this is ridiculous. We stopped at a gas station a ways outside of town ( I call it a town even though there are more constants in the word town than there are businesses there) so that I could freshen up a bit. I was standing at the back of the rental car changing my shirt, I was watching a van pull into a, I thought extinct, full service area. The very polite young man explained that the other pump (2 pumps) was the self-service. So the man in the van proceeded to back up to self-serve, I assume trying to take a short cut and go right through the gas pump, trash can and window washer. I hear a loud bang as the attendant and the owner of the gas station run out. Goodie goodie I am about to see a major shouting match, some police cars a lawyer and probably even channel 13 news. Nope. A quick check of the car and the pump, a little reorganizing of the trash and everyone was shaking hands, smiling and the van was on its way with the two workers waving them bye. If this was to happen in Vegas, there would have been at least two panic attacks, one argument a paper trail of insurance cards, more than one finger-pointing and a partridge in a pear tree.

When we finally get to “town” everyone that was out on the road (3/4 gravel, 1/4 pavement) waving as we drove by. It was a children of the corn moment for me, scared of all the brightly pigmented people…

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I was going to start this multi-part blog my first day in town, but I decided to do a little rant about the Planes, trains and automobiles.

So obviously I haven’t flew or taken a legitimate vacation in some years, but when did the stewardess, wait the air plane isle attendant, or is it the drink cart engineer become such a depressing looking job. A plane used to be the last resort in customer service. Always smiling always saying yes sir and yes ma’am. bringing me pillows and asking if I needed a blanket, sneaking me a spiced rum and even asking if I am comfortable. And this was coach.

This is a step by step reenactment of my flight from Las Vegas to Atlanta. We get to the airport to check our bags, now if you know anything about checking bags I guess you already know that they charge for bags, but did you know that they charge more if it is over fifty pounds, one of our bags was 58 pounds and they had us move all of our stuff around to get it EXACT. So after thirty minutes of reorganizing the luggage that took us two hours earlier to organize we had finally calibrated it to the right tonnage.

An assumed quick stop at the airport Burger King to order a chocolate milk, a burger and fries turned out to be a small fry an orange juice and a broken straw.

Now to the plane. Starts off right from the git go. Walking through the door of the plane we are greeted by a stewardess that decided that she knew more about being a parent than I. “The bathroom is right here, you should take her in there before you sit.” Me “no she is fine she just went to the bathroom.” Her “well kids have to go to the bathroom a lot and you might regret not taking her”. Like I had just scooped this child up and needed the advice on how to take care of her. This is the same woman who had so much want to give me parenting advice but was too lazy to point out the emergency exits. You see this airline, whom I will not mention the name, (it was definitely not Delta, I will say again it was…not Delta Airlines flight from Las Vegas, Nevada to Atlanta, Georgia) took away the only real job these people had. A little television drops down and tells us were the exits are and how to use the oxygen masks, not the flight attendants. This did not make them any more efficient in the drink department, as I was trying to sleep and they did not know how to steer it, or they were playing a fun game of bump me in the arm as they pass by 100 times. Not to mention the sexually confident male stewardess that put his ball-sac on my shoulder about half the time walking by, I think he was intentionally trying to tea bag me.

Now besides all that and the plane was as old as aviation, and that every time it moved it felt like a part of it may have flown off. The Rental car fiasco was just as bad, we were there for around an hour back and forth with the ENTERPRISINGLY idiotic car reservation attendant that did not know the difference between an SUV and a Geo Metro.

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So I am thinking about trying to make my blog a little political, then I think just more emotional, then I think more humor. I finally came to the conclusion that I am too freaking confused and should just ask my readers. What do you out there want to hear about or learn about. I can write about pretty much anything so let the ideas roll. This will be a fun little project. Maybe I will do Thirty days of reader ideas, so read often I may pick your topic, don’t worry I will mention your name and site, if you want.